Will I Always Be Pretending
by Cheelalaucha
Summary: The roles are reversed for Kurt and Dave. Kurt's afraid and threatening, Dave's out and a victim of Kurt's taunts. Eventually the equivalent of "Never Been Kissed" happens, with Kurt as the aggressor but his heart buried in there somewhere. Kurtofsky.
1. Dave

Title: Will I Always Be Pretending?  
>Rating: T for language and themes.<br>Summary: The roles are reversed for Kurt and Dave. Kurt's afraid and threatening, Dave's out and a victim of Kurt's taunts. Eventually the equivalent of "Never Been Kissed" happens, with Kurt as the aggressor but his heart buried in there somewhere.  
>Notes: "Trés chic" is roughly pronounced 'tray. sheek.' I would be annoyed if I didn't know that and read it in a fanfic without explanation. :) The title of this story comes from a line in the Glee original song "Pretending" from the last episode of season two. However, the line in the song is "we" instead of "I." The title refers to Kurt. I might explore his point of view too, if you like.<p>

**.O.O.**

"Davey!"

The word was like fire rolling off the tongue. The swaggering, cat-like boy trounced down the hallway toward the half-huddled figure of his victim.

My hand shakes just the slightest when I jam my science book into the back of my locker, and the noise is loud. My jaw clenches and my head turns just slightly to the side in anticipation of the attack. I can hear it coming from two hallways down, but it's unavoidable.

"Keeping up with the latest short and wide fashion trends, I see. Trés chic." I can feel the smirk from here, and my stance gets defensive without my permission.

I let the breath in my lungs out slowly while forcing my knuckles to move and my hand to let go of the book and shut my locker door semi-quietly. I calmly turn in the other direction and sling my backpack over my shoulder, intending to let that be that.

"Where are you going?" A note of danger plays through his tone but I keep walking. "Gay boy?" he shouts from behind me, a call, not a taunt exactly. I look into the faces of the people I'm passing and see them looking at me because Kurt "the asshole" Hummel is trying to get my attention as obnoxiously as he possibly can. I need to get to math; I _don't _need to punch his face in.

"I need a tutor, Davey," he called from behind me, following me it seems to my next class. I roll my eyes at the statement; the day I helped him would be the day I wore a dress to school. "Say you'll help me out, Davey. I could really use a buddy right now, won't you help me?"

I picked up my pace because I knew that once I was around the corner, I'd be within hearing distance of the main office, and I knew he wouldn't try anything there. I rounded the corner.

"Won't you help me?" He repeated from right behind me, over my shoulder, quieter this time, only for me to hear. "Buddy? Butt-y? _Butt_-y boy," he taunted.

Ahead of me I saw a kid slurping from a plastic, covered cup. I grabbed for it, tore the lid off and rounded on Kurt Hummel. He was right behind me so I knew that I'd hit my mark. He saw what I was doing and turned to run away, lest he ruin his outfit, but I got him before he got very far. Purple juice and ice hit him in the back, up to his hair, and down his pants. People on either side of him yelled and jumped away, and he gave a yelp half-way between a gasp and a scream. It was nothing but satisfying.

Kurt Hummel wheeled around, threw his books on the floor, and rushed at me, slushie flinging off of his clothes.

"I'm gonna rip every single hair out of your disgusting, lice-infested head, Karofsky!"

I blocked him across the chest but he gripped my hair and tugged. I didn't want to hurt him since the office was right there, and I didn't stand a chance if a teacher or the principal saw me.

"Knock it off, Hummel!" I yelled at him, trying to keep us from falling. Hummel's face was wild as he was trying to knock me over or into a wall. "Stop, you idiot!" He was going to get us suspended for fighting if the principle saw us.

"Break it up – that's enough! _Enough_! Kurt!"

Mr. Schuester, the Spanish teacher, pulled Hummel off of me, and I didn't stick around to hear what he had to say. Hummel was an asshole who deserved the stern talking-to, _not_ me. I slammed an unattended locker door closed as I stormed away. I was pretty sure that got my message across well. Hummel had attacked me, obviously; he was always starting shit with me.

"Hey," Finn said as we passed in the hallway. I said the same and tried to smile a little. "Dude, you okay?" he asked from behind me. I gave a thumbs-up without looking back because yeah, no, I wasn't really okay at the moment.

I kept my eyes down walking through the hall. People passed me and I stared at their feet, paying attention to where I was going with half of my brain. Locker doors slammed and books fell in messy heaps and binders fell with noisy slaps that pounded on my eardrums. I passed my old friend from eighth grade, Azimio, but he didn't see me. We hadn't talked in at least two years, so I was used to that. He was a good friend, and I missed hangin' out with him. I hadn't really had a best friend since then. People steered clear of the outcast, anyway. Whatever.

Someone shoved by me, hitting my shoulder roughly.

"Gay-boy."

The words were loud and unmistakably Hummel. He was half-way down the hall before the words even sunk in. I let it go. I was tired of dealing with him. Next time I'd go to the principle's office and report him.

**.O.O.**

I ate lunch in the library today. The librarian and I had a sort of understanding. She let me eat lunch in there some days, and I manned the desk on Wednesday afternoons so that she could watch her favorite court show in the staff room. I did my math homework while I ate so that I'd have it done and could save the time for something more interesting.

I glanced up from the worksheet to see an Asian girl and a kid in a wheelchair go by, whispering and smiling. I was watching them when Finn walked up.

"Dude, you got the history notes from yesterday? I kinda fell asleep that class." Finn smiled apologetically and I grinned.

"Yeah, man."

I found them and handed them over. "I need them back by Friday, though."

"No problem, thanks Dave."

I nodded and put my stuff back as he walked away. I threw my lunch in the trash and headed for my locker to get the book we were reading in English and drop off my biology binder. I put in my combo when I got there and swung it open.

Little pieces of something spilled out when I opened it and covered the floor around my locker in a little pile. I heard somebody snicker behind me and turned to see Santana Lopez and her friend giggling and watching me expectantly. I turned back and knelt down on the floor to see what it was that had been stuffed in my locker. My face fell when I got close enough to see it.

I picked up a handful of erasers and crushed them in a vice grip. I looked around the halls for Hummel—I knew it was him— and saw his perfectly sculpted hairdo from behind as he turned the corner. I clenched my jaw and tried to slam my locker shut, but it caught on the little rainbow erasers and bounced back open.

I left it open and dropped my books on the floor to follow him before he could get himself hidden in the between-class crowds. I let the erasers fall from my grasp. I was done; he was finished. If he thought he could taunt me and get away with it, he was braver than I'd given him credit for, but still just as moronic. What a complete douche.

I rounded the corner and saw him swaggering down the hall in the middle of the hallway, not even trying to hide. I pushed past people.

"Hummel!"

He turned with a smirk, spinning gracefully on his heel, his hands gripping the strap of his bag.

"Yes, Davey?" he trilled, as guilty-looking as a kid with his hands behind his back, but far too proud of it.

"What is your problem? _What_?" I ground out, balling my hands into fists.

"You are, you sorry excuse for a football player," he shot at me, glaring now, as if he actually had something to be angry about.

"What are you talking about? You don't even like football, Glee boy," I jabbed.

He sneered at me and adjusted his posture and tone to something more snobby. His brow quirked and he leaned slightly forward. "Karofsky, you don't possess anything resembling culture or sophistication. You're nothing but a Neanderthal who wouldn't know what real emotion was if it bit you on the backside. And your best quality is to look like a shaved bear just about to go into hibernation: plump enough to survive four months off your own fat."

People had stopped in the middle of the hallway to watch us, hoping for a fight, I guessed.

"What does that even have to do with football skills, you stuck-up Princess?" I advanced on him and leaned over him as best I could, doing intimidating pretty well, I thought.

His gaze flashed to scared for just the tiniest second, and I felt victorious. I narrowed my eyes, waiting for his reply.

His expression became contorted in anger and his tone was sharp as a knife. He wasn't even pretending to be friendly anymore. "If I'm a _Princess_, you're a goon, Karofsky. And I'd rather be that than a homosexual moron with a talent for carrying a ball across some grass. Oo-oo, big achievement! Grab some man-ass out on the field, Karofsky – gay boy!"

He turned away from me with a fed-up, disgusted sigh and started walking away. For a second I just stood there trying to set his hair on fire just by glaring at it, but when nothing came of that, I took two steps to catch up with him, grabbed the strap of his precious bag and yanked with half of my strength. He gave a yelp and fell backwards, barely having enough time to put his arms out behind himself to keep his head from hitting the hard floor. I took it one step farther and jerked the strap of the bag and it came loose from him. I gathered up the strap, wrapped it around the bag, drew my arm back and threw it with all my strength out the open door down the hallway that led to the bus pick-up.

"Asshole," I spat at him, turning and walking calmly away. He didn't follow me.

**.O.O.**

Notes: I've also got a couple more Glee fics if you'd like to take a look, two about Dave, one a one-shot, the other one chaptered. :)

Give me an example of a great diss that Kurt could give to Dave or Dave could give to Kurt. If it fits, I'll put it in the story and make a special note of your contribution. Thank you. :)


	2. Kurt

Title: Will I Always Be Pretending?  
>Rating: <strong>T for language<strong> and themes.  
>Summary: The roles are reversed for Kurt and Dave. Kurt's afraid and threatening, Dave's out and a victim of Kurt's taunts. Eventually the equivalent of "Never Been Kissed" happens, with Kurt as the aggressor but his heart buried in there somewhere.<p>

This chapter is in Kurt's POV. It's short, but I like what's in it.

.o.o.

_Oh, there he goes_. My gaze strays from the door of the cafeteria to a red-jacketed "bear" getting in line for food. I carefully craft my expression to show a delicate disgust and faint animosity. That's my trademark Karofsky-watching expression. I should be an actor on the big stage. Maybe someday.

I keep a conversation going with Santana, my least annoying friend at the table where I'm sitting. We bitches have to stick together; that's why we rule the school. I see you sit at a table not too far away that was half-empty and contained no one of note. I keep tabs on you with quick glances, constantly paying attention to whether anyone at my table is noticing or not. It makes me tense, but it's worth it.

Once when I glance over, I'm just catching the scene of some freshman accidently spilling milk on you and I wince just the slightest, barely a twitch before I can help myself. I turn my eyes away for the last time, not wanting to watch you any longer. I nudge Santana with my shoulder and whisper to her about what just befell the resident Neanderthal. She glances over and finds him, laughs and nudges Brittany.

"Looks like Tubby McTubtubs was thirsty," Santana quips. I laugh a dainty version of a guffaw and put my napkin on my lap. "Got milk, Gayofsky?" she calls over to him. My insides freeze while my smirk gets stuck to my face. I hadn't expected her to do that, so it caught me off guard. The worst part is that I know he has to look at me to see Santana, who's sitting next to me. I haven't looked at him and refuse to do so again. I just pick up my plastic fork and spear some broccoli, fluidly bringing it to my mouth and forcing myself to chew it since my face is still frozen in embarrassment, but still smirking.

Ten minutes later, when I look near where he sat, he is gone and there isn't any mess around where he was sitting. That's disappointing. While I had been avoiding his eye contact, I hadn't figured that he'd leave. The small situation felt unresolved in some way which put a scowl on my face and made me throw away the rest of my food. It had been sort of nasty anyway.

I carry my books to the choir room and sit down at the piano. The room is empty. I just press a few keys; I haven't kept up with piano very much. I was far too good a singer to waste my time being a mediocre pianist. Seemed a reasonable deduction to me. I hummed a bit as I played but there weren't any words to the little ditty I was playing. It was quickly becoming the best thing I could play, my little made-up tune. I stop and stare at the keys for a long while, fingers poised to play, but I don't. It just doesn't feel right; it doesn't seem fun.

I hear Brittany's familiar giggle outside the choir room in the hall and immediately pull my hands back without forethought. Quietly as I can, I get up and move to the door. I don't want to be caught playing by Santana. She would only see it as stupid, and I can't play anyway, so I don't want any requests. I open my mouth to say hello as I walk out.

"It's not cheating 'cause the plumbing's different."

I stop walking just as I'm about to reach the door to the choir room, utterly confused by that statement and clam up while I wait to understand that. It's best to use context clues with Brittany. My curiosity kept me from leaving, holding the strap of my bag tightly.

"That's right," I hear Santana reply quietly, and I grin. She tries to get Brit to understand things and always uses that tone.

"Are you staying over tonight?" Brit asks with that genuine tone of hers. "Because I haven't stopped thinking about the lacy panties you wore last time." She giggles quietly.

My expression falls, thrown off. _What? Brit, you weirdo_. I hear Santana "mmhmm" and she says, "Let's skip the movie and get straight to the kissing this time, okay?"

I swallow and grip my bag tighter. I open my mouth again, to say what, I don't know, but Brit interrupts that again. "Your lips are way softer than Artie's, especially… here," she says. I am left to wonder about where, but I don't want to because it's Brit and I feel absolutely no attraction to her. I shiver in slight disgust. _What the hell are they talking about? Do they..?_

"He's just a stupid boy," Santana replies, as if that explains everything. Brit sounds confused and a little sad when she says, "Please don't say that."

Their voices get quieter as they walk away down the hall. I stand there for a long while, staring in confusion at a music stand. What I really want to know is _why didn't they tell me_? I'd feel hurt if we were actually close friends. But, apparently we're not. I come to one conclusion quickly, though.

Their secret shouldn't stay secret. Santana would understand what I mean. The bitch would do anything to stay popular, and having this kind of information first is just the sort of thing that helps cultivate that. I wince as I think of hurting Brittany because Santana's the only one responsible, really. Santana thought it was okay to call Karofsky "Gayofsky" while she went around sleeping with girls herself? Hypocritical bitch. I shouldn't let that slide.

.O.O.

Notes: Kurt's setting himself up to be isolated while at the same time punishing Santana for the "double standard" she so much hates but applies anyway. Poor, scared Kurt. I can't wait to get to the "Never Been Kissed" bit! Alert and review, please!


End file.
